


Against the Wall

by la_rubinita



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Human Castiel, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-26
Updated: 2017-07-26
Packaged: 2018-12-07 07:23:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11618763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/la_rubinita/pseuds/la_rubinita
Summary: In which Dean has a moment of clarity.





	Against the Wall

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Casloveshisfreckles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Casloveshisfreckles/gifts).



> Written for casloveshisfreckles because she deserves all the love (and all the porn). (Also, if cockles is your jam, go check out her new fic Wonderwall and give her even more love.)

Sometimes Dean’s life felt like one long series of bumps and jerks, like he was stuck on a wagon travelling too fast down a dirt road, bouncing dangerously from one side to the other, careening around bends in the road, kicking up so much dust it hovered around him like a cloud, obscuring the road ahead.  All he could do was hold on for dear life, brace for the inevitable impact, and pray to whomever was listening that at least one of them would make it out alive.

But there were moments, too, few and far between, where that damn wagon seemed to slow to a crawl, the dust parted, and everything became crystal clear.  Just for a second, but it was usually enough for him to get it.  Those were the moments Dean thought affected him the most, those interminable flashes of clarity, not the potholes that threatened to throw him into the ditch, or the corners so sharp he thought the wagon would fly apart.

Moments like this.

The hotel room was silent except for the tinny sound of rain on the aluminum roof and the brush of pages turning as he and Cas delved into the lore.  It was a good day for research, as cold and grey as New England could get in the fall, a steady drizzle soaking everything.  The heater wasn’t working, either, making the room damp and uncomfortable.

Cas wasn’t taking it very well.  For the most part he took being human (again, Jesus) in stride, but when the weather turned shitty, so did Cas.  He was sitting in one of the beds now, cocooned in a comforter, dark hair even more out of control than usual.  He drank green tea from a styrofoam cup as he read, cradling the cup to his chest for warmth in between sips.  In the soft lamplight his tanned skin looked like gold, fairly glowing in the dim room despite how exhausted he was. 

Dean’s breath caught in his lungs when it happened, every molecule of his being suddenly and simultaneously  _ aware. _  Aware of the sticky formica table beneath his hands, and the way the horrible wooden chair dug into the backs of his thighs, and the way his feet were hot in his boots despite the chill.  He felt every drop of water in the damp air as it clung to the insides of his lungs as he forced himself to breathe, and the way his heart felt slamming against his ribcage like a jackhammer.

But mostly he was aware of Cas.  How his fingers looked, wrapped around the cup, the way his brow furrowed as he read, blue eyes flicking back and forth across the ancient pages, or how he worried his bottom lip with his teeth.  How he really needed a haircut, and how it did nothing to stop Dean’s fingers from itching to touch it.

With a groan Cas got up, cup in hand, plaid pants slung low on his hips, the muscles of Cas’ thighs straining the weathered fabric, and a t-shirt Dean was pretty sure was his stretching indecently across Cas’ shoulders as he spread his arms wide, working the stiffness out of his back.  Dean watched, time crawling, as Cas made his way to the tiny coffee pot to heat some water, each stride interminable, each motion twisting something deeper and deeper into Dean’s chest.

Cas was beautiful.

And, God, did Dean  _ want. _

The thought was so paralyzing, it took him several moments to realize Cas was trying to get his attention.

“Dean?” he said, the way his eyebrows pinched together telling Dean he’d been addressed multiple times to no effect.  “Are you feeling alright?”

Dean cleared his throat.  “Yeah, dude, I’m fine.”

“You look flushed.  You aren’t getting sick, are you?”

Dean cringed internally.  Or, at least he hoped internally.  Human or not, Cas was still pretty good at reading him, which was annoying. 

“I said I’m fine.”

Cas scowled, as though debating whether the line of inquiry was worth pursuing.  He dropped it, thank God.  “Would you like a cup of coffee?  I was considering something stronger than tea, if you’re interested.”

Dean had to devote way more brain power than was necessary to process this, his thoughts still moving at half speed, trying to figure out when the  _ wanting  _ had happened, and what had taken so long for him to acknowledge it.  Because it felt old, comfortable, like a perfectly broken in pair of jeans, now that he let himself examine it.  Like it had been there forever, waiting for the rest of him to catch up.

“Dean?”

Coffee.  Right.

“Sounds good,” Dean said, his voice tight in his throat, his heart still pounding.

Cas looked skeptical, but didn’t push.

Dean watched as Cas went through the motions with the coffee pot, his research wholly forgotten.  The motel room ceased to exist.  There was just Cas, his hands deft and sure, pure economy, like everything else about him.  Exactly what was required and nothing more.

Except, Dean realized, where he was concerned.  Cas was always going above and beyond for him.  Even when he got it wrong, his heart was always in the right place.  Despite the fact that Dean often repaid his devotion with cruel words and cold shoulders, despite the years Dean deliberately kept him at arm’s length, Cas just kept coming back.

For the first time Dean wondered why.

Cas didn’t really need him.  He’d been human long enough this time to really get the hang of it.  Sam had shown him how to get credit cards, Dean had taught him how to drive.  They’d set him up with a fake ID, too, so if he wanted out of the life, he could.  He’d picked up enough tricks in the kitchen from Dean to make sure he didn’t starve, enough of Sam’s social skills to ensure he’d only be lonely by choice.  

He’d be fine on his own.

Yet here he was, sharing a shitty dirt motel room with them somewhere near Vermont’s asshole, hunting something they’d never seen before.

Dean was up and walking before he realized it, his feet carrying him toward Cas of their own accord.  His lungs felt too small in his chest, or like there just wasn’t enough air in the room.  His hands tingled, either from oxygen deprivation or anticipation, he couldn’t tell.  

He didn’t really let himself think about it, either.  Dean was pretty good at talking himself out of the things he wanted.  And he wanted this, whatever  _ it  _ was.  Even more so now that he thought maybe Cas wanted it too.

Why else would he stick around so long?

Right?

Cas had his hip propped against the vanity counter, fingers drumming out his boredom on the ugly tile as he watched the coffee maker do its thing.  He saw Dean approaching in the mirror, canted his head to the side, curious.  Like Dean was the ultimate puzzle to be solved.   _ Years _ Cas had been looking at him like that, and it still left him feeling exposed.  Vulnerable.

But this time, he let it happen.  Let Cas see.

It was terrifying.

He had literally no idea what he was doing.

Cas turned to face him, allowing Dean fully into his personal space.  It used to bother Dean, being this close to him.   “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Dean had to force his mouth to form words, which was nearly impossible once they made eye contact.  Cas’ steady gaze never ceased to stop him in his tracks.  “I… I just realized something.”

“And?”

“And I’m going to kiss you now,” Dean said, stepping forward.  He was close enough he could feel Cas’ chest expand with each breath, rough and uneven, like he was struggling for air as much as Dean, and it sent a thrill of excitement through him.  “If that’s not okay, you should say something.”

Cas’ tongue darted out, wetting dry lips, and he nodded, just once.  It was all the invitation Dean needed.  Tangling his fingers in the silky hair that the nape of Cas’ neck, Dean pressed their lips together, unhurried, allowing himself the indulgence of memorizing the feel of Cas’ against his own.  They were soft, forgiving, and that  _ thing _ in his chest grew to an ache because Dean felt like such a greedy bastard.  He was always asking Cas for more, and Cas never hesitated to give it. 

Dean realized he didn’t want to take this from Cas.  He wanted to  _ give  _ it.  Hell, it might be the only thing he could give.  This was a language he spoke fluently, all show, no tell.

Only Cas hadn’t moved since the moment their lips touched, his entire body taut like piano wire, and Dean was suddenly seized by panic.  God, had he read that all wrong?  Did he just ruin everything, destroying the only friendship he’d ever had in a moment of insanity?  How could they ever go forward from this?  Dean didn’t think he could bear looking at Cas everyday, knowing that Cas knew what he wanted, knew he wanted  _ him _ , and have the sentiment unreciprocated.  Unrequited.

Or, worse: Would this be the mistake that finally sent Cas packing?

Hot with shame, Dean pulled back, an apology ready to tumble from his lips.  “Cas, I--”

Dean didn’t get very far.

With a growl, Cas launched into motion.  He crashed into Dean, hands groping, lips claiming, all teeth and tongue and the blunt scrape of fingernails down Dean’s sides. Cas was everywhere all at once, hands roaming, fighting through layers of clothing to reach skin, the hard planes of his chest pressing against Dean’s making each indrawn breath electric.  He was dizzy from it, with Cas, with the knowledge that Cas wanted this, too.

The sudden redirection of blood flow didn’t help, either.   

Dean held on to whatever he could -- Cas’ hair, his shoulders, the sharp jut of his hip bones.  It was incredible, every inch of him on fire, and they hadn’t even gotten their clothes off yet.

He wondered how long Cas had waited for this moment, waited for Dean to pull his head out of his ass and do something.  So many years wasted, blind and frightened; Dean ached with regret.  Cas had been so patient.

He wasn’t patient anymore.  Dean’s flannel was the first thing to go, Cas pulling it off his shoulders and yanking it down his arms in one swift motion.  His t-shirt wasn’t far behind.  Cas stopped touching him long enough to pull his own shirt over his head before he was pressing into Dean, the skin-on-skin short circuiting his brain.  He didn’t even realize Cas had been walking him backward until his back collided with the frigid plaster.

A sharp roll of Cas’ hips punched the air out of Dean’s chest with a ragged groan, the friction of Cas’ cock against his, even through his jeans, was tantalizing, not nearly enough.  Desperate for more, Dean gripped the firm flesh of Cas’ backside and ground against him.

Cas growled again, the sound starting low in his belly and rumbling out like thunder, and latched onto Dean’s neck with a vengeance, biting, sucking and licking his way down, nipping at Dean’s collarbone, the rough scrape of stubble against his chest sending jolts directly to his cock.  Calloused fingertips teased their way down his sides, lingering near his belt buckle, 

“Fuck,” Dean gasped, his hands clutching, head thrown back into the wall with a heavy thunk.  Dean didn’t feel it.  The only thing he could process was Cas, his mouth, his hands, his hips, pinning him to the wall.

Cas hooked two fingers in his belt and stopped, waiting for Dean to meet his steady gaze.  Want rolled off him in waves, crashing into Dean with the force of the ocean until he felt like he was drowning in it.

“Is this okay?” Cas asked, his gravelly voice thick and heavy with need, but still so solemn.

Dean smiled.  “Yeah,” he said, pulling him in for a kiss, the long, slow glide of Dean’s tongue against Cas’ drawing out a happy sigh.  “More than.”

In a matter of moments, Dean’s belt was gone, his fly undone, pants shoved down his thighs.  Strong digits wrapped around Dean’s length, twisting at the base before dragging up to the tip and back down.

Dean’s mind went blissfully blank, then crashed back into him when Cas did it again, his stroke firmer, more confident than before.

Dean’s fingers scrabbled at Cas’ waistband, trembling now and desperate to feel the weight of Cas’ dick in his hand, the silky glide of flesh against his palm.  He wanted to make Cas quiver, to reduce him to the needy mess Dean was fast becoming.

At last, Dean managed to get his hands inside the worn plaid, working them down Cas’ thighs and letting his erection spring free.  It was thicker than he’d imagined, and hot in his hand as he gave it a swift tug.  Cas shuddered at groaned at the first touch, his entire body curling into Dean, his free hand clutching at the back of Dean’s neck.

Yeah, Dean could give him this.

Rocking his shoulders, Dean spun them around, pinning Cas to the wall.  Kissing him soundly, Dean wrapped Cas’ arms around Dean’s neck and took them both in hand.  Cas groaned again, Dean swallowing the sound with greedy lips.  He grabbed Cas’ ass again, undulating their hips together and up into Dean’s hand.

Cas got the point.

They found a rhythm easily, like they’d been doing this together their whole lives, the exquisite drag of flesh on flesh rising so quickly to a fever pitch Dean struggled to breathe, to  _ function,  _ to do anything but hold on to Cas.  It felt like a dam had broken, all that want they’d been packing away for years, rushing out in a flood, obliterating anything in its path.

Dean’s name fell from Cas’ kiss-swollen lips, over and over again, his voice wrecked.  He clutched at Dean’s shoulder, hand fitting over the scar, the other knotted in Dean’s hair, foreheads pressed together as Cas fucked wildly into Dean’s fist. 

Dean came first, the friction of Cas’ cock against his too much, vision blurring and choking on Cas’ name as his release coated his stomach and hand.  Cas captured Dean’s lips as he came right behind him, hips stuttering, fingers digging into Dean’s scalp, like it was the only thing that would keep him from floating away.

Cas kept kissing him through the aftershocks, happily taking what he wanted.  Not that Dean minded.  Kissing Cas was pretty fucking awesome, from the way their tongues twined together, their lips fit just so, to the way Cas’ stubble felt scraping against his chin.  Dean couldn’t imagine a world where he didn’t want this.

Legs wobbly, they sunk to the floor half-heartedly adjusting their pants on the way.  Dean’s sweat was cooling rapidly and they were both sticky with come, but Cas was smiling as he tucked himself against Dean’s side and rested his head in the crook of his neck.  Dean had never been much of a snuggler, but he thought he could get used to this.  Especially when it followed mind-blowing orgasms.

It was easy, too.  He kept waiting for the urge to flee to take him, but it never did.  

Cas yawned.  “I’m sorry.”

“I’ll take it as a compliment,” Dean said, chuckling.  “Take a shower with me?”

“Sam will return soon,” Cas said, his voice uncertain.

Dean shrugged.  “He’s a big boy.  He can get his own room.”

Cas was silent for a moment.  “What does this mean?”

“It means you’re stuck with me.  If you’ll have me.”

Cas smiled.  “Shower?”

“Shower.”

 


End file.
